Loop
by Siniscule
Summary: <html><head></head>Sometimes love can be easy but, more often than not, love is complicated. [AU - OneShot]</html>


**A/N: I apologize in advance.**

**Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership to _Love Live! School Idol_ _Project._**

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><p><strong>Loop<strong>

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><p>It has been less than twenty minutes since you received the text, but here you are parallel to the villa in record speed. This may even be your best time so far. You get a lot of practice.<p>

The grimace you've plastered onto your face loosens up until your neutral expression returns to its place. You can see her, clad in a hoodie and sweatpants, running out and across the street already, and you don't want to make her think you're pissed or anything.

You are, though.

The soft pounding of rain against the windshield is managing to keep your thoughts from spiraling, and you're thankful for the darkness that accompanies the midnight hour. You lean over to the passenger side and manually unlock the door, letting the girl in to take a seat in the soft leather that has probably morphed to her shape by now.

You try to keep that thought from lingering.

Without a word, you start up the engine and pull away from the curb. It's going to be a long ride to the motel, let alone to return to your apartment, and you want to get it done as fast as possible. If it weren't for the risky weather, you would probably be flying down the road at hyper speed.

A few minutes go by in silence until she speaks up.

"How did the callback go?" she asks, and you immediately tense up. Your mind was so preoccupied with the current situation that you forgot about the whole ordeal to begin with.

"Fine," you reply, lacking the heart to tell her that you had missed it merely to come and pick her up. She must have forgotten what time you were meant to be at the second audition by, but you didn't blame her. Your schedule was always full of auditions and odd-jobs. This would have been your first successful callback, though, but even your dream couldn't keep you from submitting to this girl.

"Were you just as cocky and annoying as usual?" she jokes half-heartedly, and, despite having your eyes on the road, you can practically hear the smirk. If it weren't for the severity of the current situation and the fact that you had actually missed the opportunity, then you probably would have made a teasing comeback of some sort. But you hate small-talk whenever this happens.

"What did he do this time?" you ask, your neutral expression beginning to hint at a fresh scowl.

There is a pause before the reply arrives, "Nico…"

"Maki," your knuckles turn white against the wheel, "what did he fucking do?"

You slowly apply pressure on the brake until you reach a full stop at a red light. You can feel the tension and hesitation she's emitting, so you turn to face her while the chance is there. You nod, encouraging her to confide in you.

Maki tugs at the collar of her hoodie to reveal a darkening bruise around the left side of her neck, and the bitter contortion of your expression must be harsh if it's enough to make Maki hide the beaten flesh again. She closes her eyes when you scream out angrily, proper words completely incapable of conveying the fury in your heart.

As soon as the light turns green, you quickly find the nearest possible U-turn and make a beeline right for your own apartment. It's still closer than the motel at this rate, and there's no way you're going another minute without tending to that wound.

"Nico, he's getting better," she tries to explain after a few minutes, as if she has the audacity to do so.

"Really? Better? Is bodily harm what you call _better_?" You ask, choking out a bitter laugh, "Had me fooled, Maki."

"You're an asshole," she grumbles in agitation.

"And _you're _a goddamn _idiot_! Don't forget who texted who!" you exclaim, and you're fueled up even more by her inability to respond. You shake your head multiple times, baffled by the situation that just never seems to end, "I don't understand why you can't just leave him."

"You know my parents," Maki whispers, and you can feel your heart vibrate in a low hum when you hear the sorrowful defeat in her voice.

You swallow down the aftertaste of resentment, "Unfortunately."

You park and turn off the car, letting yourself out as Maki does the same. The rain is coming down harder, and you rush yourself over to the entrance and get the door unlocked. You both wipe your shoes on the welcome mat before heading up the stairs and into your small apartment.

"Wait here," you instruct, pointing over to the couch while you head to the bathroom. Relief hits you when you hear the sound of the couch deflating a bit, and you're glad that she isn't being stubborn this time around. The walk to the bathroom is short, but it takes you a few minutes to decide what to get. There's not much you can really do for a bruise, but you grab a small towel from your rack and proceed to run over to the kitchen to grab an ice pack.

Maki offers the weakest smile imaginable when you return. She takes the ice pack from your hand and, with a pained flinch that you do not fail to notice, she rests it softly against her bruise. You sit beside her and stare at her expectantly, and only then do you realize that there are no lights on aside from the faint glow of the bathroom down the hall. You forgot to turn it off, but you can easily do that later.

She notices that you're watching her and, even in the dimly lit room, you can see a sprinkle of a blush adorning her cheeks. It makes you smile a little bit as the memories of high school and sweet days return to you, despite how much they hurt now, and you hope that the gesture urges her to open up.

"He had been drinking," she begins to say in a hushed voice, "even though he's been trying to get sober. He lost another one today, a little boy. He couldn't save him, and it shattered him," her voice trails off a bit. There's a crack in its pitch, and you move your hand to squeeze hers between the two of you.

"He should know how to let go. Not everyone makes it. He should know it's not his fault," you begin to say, trying to keep a level-head as you're reminded of the past hardships that he has caused Maki, "But you know what is his fault? Hurting you. A doctor's ambition should be to heal others, not to injure them. He doesn't deserve you."

"I know," she says, and you see something glistening in her eyes illuminated by the light of a lightning flash that follows. She begins to whimper, "I-I'm so sorry about my parents, Nico. I can't do this every day without y-you."

You bite your lip, ignoring the threatening water levels in your tear ducts. Your fingers intertwine more intricately with hers, and your squeeze tightens all the more. It's in these moments that you feel all the repressed layers shed, and all of it hurts.

"I kn-know. You have no idea how much it hurts to see you like this and know I can't do anything," you mutter, loathing the way your voice shakes when you need to be the strong one. You should be used to this – this is how it always happens. It has been two years since the Nishikinos placed a restraining order on you, and it's only in these difficult moments that you're allowed to sneak away with all the hurt instead of living in it.

It's hard for you to fathom the lifestyle that Maki must live, with parents that determine one's path and future with their power of influence and wealth. How could they tear you away from her, when she was clearly happy, and, instead, give her away to some unknown prick of a surgeon? The jerk won't even buy the girl a keyboard, when you would easily work your ass off for a year to buy her a grand piano. In what way did any of it make sense?

You've got Maki on her back on the couch now, and you make sure to lean over her as gently as possible. Knowing her, she may not even be showing you any other damage that might have been dealt. But you will discover it inevitably.

There are tears in her eyes as you carefully remove the ice pack from her neck to look at the patch of broken blood vessels. Even in the dim light you can see the way that the purple splatter stains against the white canvas that is Maki's skin. Despite the waves of rage that drown your mind, you manage to plant trails of kisses along the blotch filled with nothing short of pure love. You can hear her whimper softly, both because of the dulled pain of her throbbing skin but also because you know that this is one of her most sensitive areas. The thought that the man who could tear at her beauty like this is also the man who may have kissed her here makes you want to throw up, but at least you've got the smug satisfaction of knowing that no one kisses Maki like you do. This is your territory, restraining order and marriage license be damned.

Her hands maneuver in a way that has your head move back, and the violet eyes that meet yours are full of a pain that you feel in your heart instantly. Your arms wrap underneath her protectively, and you close your eyes as she leans in to kiss your lips. It's slow and sensual and raw, like vulnerability is meant to be. The taste of salt from the tears stings your taste buds; serving as a reminder of the reality outside of this dark room, filled only by thundering clouds and thundering hearts.

You break away, your breath mingling with hers. Her fingers rub soothingly in rhythmic circles against your cheeks, and you fight the urge to close your eyes. She sniffles and lets out a shaky breath that sets your chest ablaze with affection and empathy.

"Maki," you can feel yourself trembling, "you need to leave him. You need to run away."

The bitterness of her laugh is understandable, "And run where, Nico?"

"Run back to me."

And, like every time, there isn't anything left to be said. This happens more often that it should, with abuse lining Maki's porcelain skin, you sacrificing your own life to ensure she has someone to go to, and with pleasure masking the hurt spilled on locked lips in the dark of night.

And, like every time, there is no body to be found beside you in the morning.

And, like every time, the cycle continues.


End file.
